


Cold Turkey

by my_angry_angel



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcoholism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_angry_angel/pseuds/my_angry_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken accident leads Bruce to decide it's time for Tony to quit drinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Turkey

Some people learn at an early age to recognize when someone is drunk. Drunk enough to behave differently. Even people who hadn’t learned that skill could tell that Tony Stark was wasted. It was his birthday, and the billionaire had convinced his friends to go out to a bar he’d bought on an impulse. Colonel Rhodes and Pepper were unable to attend for reasons they kept to themselves, but the Avengers had no excuse not to go. Which was how Bruce found himself somewhere he’d sworn he’d never go.

Natasha was, stereotypically, drinking almost every other person under the table, while showing little sign of drunkenness herself. Clint could hardly stand straight, but was still putting more away. He kept trying to find something he could drink faster than Natasha. The birthday boy himself was standing on a table, trying to get his balance long enough to whirl his tie over his head and throw it into the crowd of screaming twenty-something’s. Even Thor was showing signs of being tipsy, though he’d had more to drink than any other patron, including Natasha. Steve had drank a glass of wine when they first showed up, but then decided that he may as well drink water. It was cheaper and would have the same effect. Everyone was having a great time.

Except Bruce.

Bars and their patrons tended to remind him of his dad. Few people knew about how his dad had treated him, and he told those who did that he was over it. Even managed to convince himself sometimes. On good days. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a good day. Any day he found himself in a bar turned out to be a bad day. For that matter, any day he was around drunk people. None of them would dare hit him, he knew that much. He liked to tell himself it was because they were friends, not because they knew the other guy would come out and fight back. But occasionally, someone would yell something that reminded him of his dad. Or two guys would start fighting. That was the worst. He was always afraid he’d squeeze his glass so hard it would break.

The few people who knew him and were sober enough to recognize his discomfort were out having fun. Every few minutes, a sodden young woman would find her way over and try to flirt with him. It almost always consisted of her draping herself over him, getting entirely too close, and giggling at everything he said. There was alcohol on their breath, every one. With their faces just inches apart, the smell washed through Bruce’s nose, made him gag. And always triggered flashbacks.

Some of the girls didn’t respond to his verbal rebuttals and he was no good at pushing those ones away. He knew jujitsu, of course, but he was reluctant to use martial arts on those poor girls. Fortunately, one of his teammates, usually Steve, noticed his predicament and came to help. After coming to his rescue for the third time, Clint planted a kiss square on Bruce’s lips. The scientist had been so astonished at the time that he couldn’t even react. “Oughta throw ‘em off your trail for a bit,” the archer mumbled before pinching Bruce’s butt and stumbling back out to dance.

As unexpected as the kiss was, it certainly had the effect Clint had predicted. Few women bothered him after that.

The bartender finally closed the bar at three in the morning, two hours after last call. Tony tried to convince him to stay open longer, but by then he could barely sit up straight, let alone speak in coherent sentences. So the man firmly kicked them out, despite Tony’s mumbled protests and threats against his job.

Steve insisted that nobody who’d had anything to drink be allowed to drive, even those who showed no signs of drunkenness. The list was narrowed down to Bruce. Though the soldier’s own glass of wine had been hours before, more than enough time for him to have completely processed the alcohol even without the serum, he refused to agree that he was okay to drive. So Bruce drove and, despite Tony’s advice and attempts at navigation--once he told Bruce to turn left, straight into the Hudson--he managed to get them back to Stark Tower in once piece.

Then came the challenge of getting everyone to bed. Clint was likely to attack anyone who came too close, except Natasha. Even falling down drunk, he trusted her enough to let her help him to bed. Bruce knew he wouldn’t be able to help Thor; even Steve had trouble staying upright under the god’s weight. So he pulled Stark’s arm over his shoulder and started hauling him upstairs.

When they got to Tony’s room, the billionaire pulled a bottle of scotch from a drawer, set it on the bedside table and started hunting up a glass.

“Tony, you should probably lie down,” Bruce said softly, trying to guide the other man to his bed.

“Nope,” Tony replied, “’m perfecly fine,” he said as he nearly fell over.

“Tony, please. You can barely stand.” Bruce reached up to try to pry Tony's fingers from the bottle

“Tol’ you ‘m fine!” the billionaire yelled as he spun around. Bruce was sure it wasn’t on purpose, but Tony’s arm swung limply around and hit his cheek in an open-handed slap.

Bruce stood there staring at him for several seconds, his eyes wide. He desperately tried to stay in the present as memories he’d tried to repress swam to the forefront of his mind.

“God, Bruce,” Tony mumbled, “’m sorry.”

Banner closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists to mask the shaking. “You’ve had enough,” he said slowly, his voice quiet.

“I’m so sorry,” Tony repeated.

“You’ve had enough,” Bruce said again, slower than before. He opened his eyes in time to see Tony nod and start submissively getting ready for bed.

The scientist walked out of the room long before Tony was in bed and started wandering around the tower. After a few minutes, he stopped. “JARVIS,” he said quietly, “I know you technically don’t have to do anything I tell you to, but let’s pretend for a moment that I can hack into your system and reprogram you.” From anyone else, the threat would have been empty, but Bruce was one of the few people who could break past the security Tony had in place. “Now, Tony can probably get in there and fix it in the morning, but I’m not a programmer. I might make a fatal error and you’ll be stuck as Pedro the singing AI forever. Are you with me?” Both Bruce and the AI knew that there was little chance of him accidentally doing that. But it was very likely that he could do it on purpose.

“I’m with you, sir,” JARVIS said mildly.

“Great. Now, first order of business, record that. Then, you’re going to tell me exactly where Tony’s hidden every bottle of alcohol in this place.”

With JARVIS’ direction, Bruce found every all the alcohol in the tower. He gathered them all up in a box and took them to the kitchen. Some of the drinks were rare, priceless. He dumped them all down the drain. He knew there would be hell to pay later; Tony would be furious. “When he asks why I did this, show him the recording. Then make sure he knows that any other alcohol he brings in here will follow these. Tell everyone else while you’re at it.”

“May I ask why you’re so upset, sir?” JARVIS asked as Bruce sank heavily into one of the kitchen chairs.

“Anyone ever told you about my dad?” Bruce asked, rubbing at his temples.

“Can’t say as they have.”

“Well, not many people know about this, so, of course, you’re not to repeat it. As a matter of fact, I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t tell anybody that you even know.”

“Would you like me to delete it from my memory when you’ve finished?” JARVIS asked. Bruce had the feeling that the AI would do it if he gave the word.

“No, it’s fine. Just make sure nobody else can access the information.” Bruce hesitated for a moment, then started speaking slowly, haltingly, like the words hurt. “Dad was an alcoholic. First time he hit me, I was four years old. It was Christmas. I’d gotten an erector set that year. It was complicated, supposed to be really hard to put it together. I put it together right in front of the tree, and I guess I did it too fast. When dad found out, he was pissed. Started yelling at me, but mom interfered. He hit her and when I tried to stop him, he yelled at me to shut up and turned around and hit me. I literally flew, JARVIS.

“Over the next four years, he regularly beat both of us. Every time, mom tried to keep him from hurting me, and he always hit her first. Then one day, she decided to get us out of there...” Bruce fell silent, his eyes closed. It had been easier to tell the AI than he’d thought. Of course, he’d left out a lot of the details. Like how often the abuse happened and the severity, as well as what happened after his mom had tried to run. Even though the elder Banner had been convicted later, lying to the jury about the events of that night was still the moment of his life Bruce was most ashamed of.

“Don’t tell him all that, please,” Bruce said, looking up. “Just show him the recording. And, um...don’t show the others. Just tell them not to let him have anything to drink.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said softly.

Despite the hour, Bruce stayed in the kitchen. He didn’t even want to try to go to sleep. Not because he was afraid he’d lie there awake, hour after hour, but rather because he was afraid he really would fall asleep. He didn’t want to deal with the dreams he knew he’d have.


End file.
